


The Crypt

by TheGreatAhtnamas



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Adult Themes, Dark, Horror, Intense, Loss of Control, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatAhtnamas/pseuds/TheGreatAhtnamas
Summary: Have you ever been in a crypt or a tomb? They're rarely used anymore, and from disuse comes disrepair. They can be dangerous, steeped in darkness. Disuse and disrepair demands curiosity, and if you’re not careful, you might get carried away.
Kudos: 2





	The Crypt

**Author's Note:**

> Alludes to sexual sensations, but doesn’t feature sex.  
> Trigger warning for non-con, but not sexual in nature.

Have you ever been in a crypt or a tomb? They're rarely used anymore, and from disuse comes disrepair. They can be dangerous, steeped in darkness. Disuse and disrepair demands curiosity, and if you’re not careful, you might get carried away.  
  
Remember caution, lest curiosity give way to thoughtlessness.  
  
Thoughtlessness cannot survive as long as you remember. But remembering in the moment would mean you weren’t thoughtless and that curiosity had not carried you away. And there’s only so much fun in that.  
  
Back to my question: Have you ever been in a crypt or a tomb? Have you ever had the chance? What would you do with the chance? Hush, an honest answer now would be impossible. I wonder what would really happen if you were given the opportunity? 

* * *

The morning is bright with a puff of cloud occasionally meandering the sky. The wind is strong and carries a light, grassy scent. The wide, open leaves rustle as they reach up. You’re in a park. A pond, echoing with the occasional croak and peep, and the shade of tall trees temper the temperature. There is a fieldstone wall standing two stories high, flanked by well-mown, green hills. This park is usually filled with people, but today it’s quiet. That’s okay. You aren’t here to talk to anyone anyway. You’re here to get away from the busy city and seek out a little adventure.

You have a sudden desire to climb something.

You approach the wall, analyzing the surface from the base to the top. Your eyes scan the crevices and unmortared potential. Whether you’ve climbed before or not, the thought of climbing this wall seems like an adventure. The hills surrounding the wall adjoin to the top of the wall. Getting down will be almost too simple. A quick check over your shoulder confirms no one is watching you. Your fingers grasp a couple stones just above your head, and with one foot on the wall you hoist yourself up. The rhythm comes naturally; one hand grasps a new stone, one foot lifts and stands.

A sticky substance covers your fingers.

Without thinking, your hand yanks from the stone and shakes in the air. You realize the substance was a spider’s web, but you see no additional movement when you glance back at the crevice. Perhaps it’s an old nest, probably nothing to worry about. You wipe your hand against the fabric at your waist. A shiver runs down your spine, but you press on. Your hands feel the rough crystals and lichen, and your mind focuses on each rock, each step, each rising inch. Each rock remains stable and still… except one.

One rock, a small, vertically-set, elongated stone, pivoted from the mass and your hand slips. You reach for another rock, but gravity pulls you down and twists you around. Your feet lose their grip. Your remaining hand trembles against the rock and fails to hold. For a moment, you’re airborne. You know the impact is coming, you know to brace yourself. Everything moves slowly.

Your landing is lighter than expected, but tumbling disorients you. Your body shakes with adrenaline, but remains unharmed. There’s a faint tremor in the ground and the sound of grinding rock. Some rocks on the wall are sliding back. An opening, like a door, appears, The remnant grinding echoes far below in the enveloping darkness.

Without thinking, you stand and pat the dust and dirt from your clothes. You glance around. You’re still the only one here. You approach the deep, dark entry and peer inside. It’s so difficult to see in there. The wind picks up and blows past you, down into the darkness. The grassy scent cannot combat the escaping stale air from below. You begin fumbling for the flashlight on your phone, but before you can unlock the screen a light spurs to life just ahead. Flame cracks and pops on a torch, innocent, as though it had been there the whole time. But it hadn’t been. You’re sure there was no light only a moment ago. Strange… how did that work? Has someone been down there recently, and this is some sort of joke? Or maybe a prank?

Within the chamber, you can make out intricate stone columns, but the room is so dusty it’s difficult to tell what they are made of. Just to get a better view, you set your foot down a step. In the flickering glow you can tell the floor had a smooth layer of dust. When you lift your foot, a footprint remains. There are no other footprints. No one else has been down here. Interesting. You’re the first person to see this place in a long time.

The fire flickers and diminishes to embers, but it somehow rekindles itself and glows as strong as before. You take another step down toward the room. There must be some device in there, something to make the fire start remotely? Perhaps by a sensor? activated by a breeze or some temperature change? A few steps brings an unwitting you close enough to examine the torch.

A distant flicker and a _whum_ lights another torch, several meters away. You briefly examine the torch for a trigger or a sensor. It stands on a wrought iron frame, thin and curled into smooth curves. You don’t see wires or sensors or anything like a trigger. Maybe the other torch will have something visible? Without giving much thought, you step toward the next torch. Again, several meters away, another flame flares to life. How far does this go? Another thought falls short of stopping you, and you follow the flames as they come to life.

Three flames.

Four flames.

Five flames.

You begin to realize none of the torches are placed near a wall; you are being led through a room. But where to? A moment of clarity catches up with you and you realize you haven’t been paying attention to where you’ve been going. How many twists and turns have there been? You turn and look back the way you came. From here, you can only see two lit torches. A well of dread fills you, deep inside. Your legs propel you back the way you came. You just need to see the exit, and assure yourself that you are safe. You just need to make sure you know where you came from and how to get back.

A flame flickers out before you reach it. Everything is dark the way you came. You can’t even see the exit. Maybe a column is in the way? You pull out your phone. You need a flashlight. But your phone refuses to turn on. It wasn’t dead before, it had plenty of battery left. This isn’t right. _No, no, no, no! Please, please work!_  
  
The next flame in line flickers. Whirling around, you barely see the next flame dissipate into darkness. Fear replaces clarity, and you run. You stumble, stretching your strides as far as you can, trusting the ground to remain beneath your feet. A sense of relief tingles in your fingertips as you slip back into the light. Curiosity carried you into the decrepit structure. Now, fear keeps you there.

Another light flickers on. Is that eight flames?

Ten?

Twenty?

How far have you truly gone? A glance back reminds you that you cannot go back, and you might never know how far you’ve gone. Maybe the torches will guide you out another way.

Is that flame purple? No, it’s the same as the rest. You keep walking, sparing the occasional glance to your surroundings. You see it again. But maybe your eyes are just playing tricks on you. The glow on the ground is slightly deformed up ahead. Your steps are cautious, but consistent. It’s so quiet in here. Your heart hammers and shakes the air in and out of your lungs. As you slip into the deformed glow, you realize the ground has crumbled and the remains are bowed and uneven. Where holes exist, you cannot see the floor below. _Stay in the light,_ you remind yourself. If only your phone would work.

Minutes pass in the hushed darkness. Your ears search for changes in the quiet to no avail. The only sound with you is the eerie hissing of fire magically flaring to life. You watch them, one at a time.

Then, two flicker to life at once. They flank an enormous archway, lighting only the bottom of the smooth-carved stone wall. Just beyond, a room invites you in. The offer is impossible to deny when two more torches flicker to life inside, sparking purple and flickering to orange just like the others. There’s something in that room. A couple steps lead up to a large, dark stone, and it beckons you. And you follow the call. Light and shadow dance across smooth carvings. Perhaps they’re glyphs? You wonder for a moment what they say.

A quaking _khoum_ fills the room and the ground shakes below you. You catch yourself from falling, but when you turn around you notice the path behind you is blocked by a single, solid stone. It’s like a giant door slid into place, blocking you in. You slam your open palm against the surface, calling for help. You know no one can hear you. No one followed you in, and who knows how deep you are? Still, you try. There must be a way out somewhere. You search for more torches.

It’s a dead end, and the room is small. The two torches beside the glyphed stone illuminate every corner you can reach. The vaulted ceiling fades into shadow. There are glyphs on the walls too, but the walls are otherwise smooth. The boundary between bricks or stones is invisible. Even so, you press your hands against the walls, hoping to find a hidden switch. You struggle to keep calm. You don’t even realize you’re muttering. Even so, you’re thorough. Hours of searching and pounding and pulling yields nothing. Nothing. You slip to the ground, exhausted and afraid. You feel so incredibly alone.

Time slips, and, in such a dark place, it’s impossible to tell how much has trickled away. The well of despair trickled with it. In its place fills the need to escape and optimistic confidence. You hoist yourself up from the dust and decide to examine the dark, stone block. You run your fingers along the surface, searching for a pressure plate or a loose stone. You notice a thin crevice in the side of the block, near the top, running all the way around. It’s too narrow, you can’t wedge your fingers inside, and there’s nothing in the room to help you. Maybe you can push it off?

You place your hands against the stone and push with all the force you can. Grinding echoes against the distant ceiling and the stone slab shifts against your weight. Progress! You push again with inspired strength and determination. You’re not sure what you’ll manage to find, but something is better than nothing… right?

The process is slow. The stone grinds a couple centimeters, and you readjust your footing. The stone block actually appears to be hollow on the inside. That should give you enough room to squeeze your fingers under the lid… and lift… and push. The sound is almost deafening, and your muscles protest. Still, you continue to push. The lid topples with it’s own weight. You lose your balance, falling into the open stone box as the crash reverberates. Dust clouds the air, and a strange scent envelops you. You wave your hand through the dust to disperse it between coughs.

You open your eyes. Now that the lid is completely removed, the firelight can breach the contents of the box. Below you is a mixture of cloth and metal. Your gaze travels the edge of fabric and—there’s a hand. There’s a body! You throw yourself back from the corpse and tumble down the steps leading to the box… leading to the coffin.

You are in a crypt. You are in a tomb. And you are trapped. You are still alive, but in the flickering darkness, mere meters from a corpse and otherwise alone, the thought brings you no comfort. Shivers wrack your body. You vigorously wipe your hands across your clothes. You try to convince yourself you’re sleeping, you’re dreaming, that you need to wake up. If you’ve ever been able to command yourself to wake from a dream, this is, unfortunately, one of those moments you cannot succeed. You rock back and forth.

Only the arduous trickle of time seems to calm you. Another couple hours passed, and the corpse seems true to its name and refuses to move. Curiosity guides you to your feet again. You wonder who could have been buried here. You remember you saw a hand, not a skeleton or macabre remains of a rotten creature, but a hand of bone and flesh. But that couldn’t be right, could it? You take silent, careful steps forward again. You peer into the… coffin? Sarcophagus? The figure remains unmoving.

The body rests on a bed of strong, embroidered fabric, clothed in silks and armor. The armor looks pristine. Perhaps it was decorative? Jewels are embedded in the metal, you suppose it must be decorative. You suppose the wealthy may be buried garishly. Still, it’s disturbing how untouched the body looks. The skin hasn’t dried, nothing has chewed through the flesh, and they don’t look deathly pale. You wonder if their heart is still beating, as senseless as the thought is. Even so, you entertain the thought and press a hand to the chest. It’s difficult to feel anything through all the fabric. For good measure, you check for a pulse at their neck. Silence. Your fingers feel nothing. Can you hear them breathe?... No, you’re the only one breathing here.

They’re dead. Heaving a breath to calm yourself, you lift and shift their arms and legs, looking for some sort of trigger again. You mutter apologies to them as though they care. You try to set the limbs back where you found them as though someone might notice the change. Still nothing. No pressure plate, no camera, no motion sensor, nothing.

Maybe you just need to keep searching. What about the floortiles? You bend down on your hands and knees, pushing dust around. Keep searching. You plead to yourself for something to show up. You scour the ground. You check the walls again. You check the floor again. You check the stone slab preventing your escape. You check the torches. You consider checking the sarcophagus again….

Instead, you lean against the wall and let yourself slide down. Your stomach growls and your eyelids droop. They’re so tired of searching in this light. You can feel the start of a migraine. A couple deep breaths allow you to slip into sleep.

You begin to dream.

In your dream, everything is dark. You feel warm… no, you feel hot. You breathe in, and a shudder slithers down your spine. Heat settles between your legs. You squirm from it, but the sensation follows you, rides your motions and intensifies as you move. It feels so nice, and you begin to settle into the feeling. You ride wave after wave as they wash over you. Your cheeks flush. Gentle strokes along your legs and thighs tear breathy moans from you. Sensation slithers all around you, stroking your arms and hands, wrapping around your waist and chest, teasing you where you’re most sensitive. You’re so warm. You’re so wet. Your moans beg for more. You’re not thinking. You’re drifting, lost on the feeling, forgetting where you were when you fell asleep. Everything feels so, so good. The air is heavy and thick and aromatic. Spice and stagnancy and life.

You are compelled to stand. Your movements are slow and deliberate. You sway in place for only a moment. Your left foot steps away from the wall, then your right. It doesn’t matter why you’re walking, it feels right. Up the steps to the sarcophagus, there lies the only resident of the crypt. Peaceful. Silent. They look so alive. And that smell, that strange and intoxicating smell… it’s coming from them. You inhale deeply and can’t help the sound that passes between your lips. You are completely empty. You have no thoughts. You lean over the edge of the sarcophagus and every breath is intoxicating. The closer you get, the better you feel. Where is that smell coming from? You drift side to side. You feel weightless. Is it…? Yes, the smell is over here.

You’re not aware of your movement, and your surroundings are nothing to you. You shiver with pleasure as the scent becomes more powerful. Your nose is a few centimeters from theirs. A slight, warm breeze brushes against your nose and you draw deep, eyes fluttering closed. As another shiver crawls down your spine, you release your breath in a dizzy sigh.

Something grabs your hair, and your lips meet flesh. Your eyes shoot open. You try to lift yourself up. The hand in your hair is strong, and you can’t pull out of its grasp. You begin to scream, the sound muffled by the lips against yours, and a tongue slips into you. Terror and arousal paralyze you. As that tongue explores you, screams turn to moans and whimpers. Dark, glassy eyes stare back at you, focused on you. Again, you try pulling away. Again, you try screaming. You’re getting weaker, and every attempt is more difficult than the last. The scent is dizzying, overwhelming, powerful. The scent is coming from them, from their breath… they’re breathing!

Pressing a hand against the once-corpse’s chest, a resonant heartbeat like a deep drum surprises your fingertips. Your heartbeat begins to match speed, and every beat draws you deeper. You need to get out, you need to get away. If you don’t, you’ll never leave, will you? It’s so nice, it’s—

You push against their chest, and in that same moment they release you. You stumble back. You tumble down the steps. You roll across the floor. You are so distant, so warm, so tired. From your spot on the floor, barely able to lift your head, you glimpse the figure slowly rising from the sarcophagus. They’re impossibly tall.

Your vision darkens for a moment.

The figure glides down the altar in your direction.

Your vision darkens for a moment.

Embroidered silks and armor shift. They’re so close. It’s all you can see.

Your vision darkens for a moment.

A hand brushes hair from your face. It slides back and brushes over your head. There’s a deep hum in the air around you.

Your vision darkens for… a… moment.

_“Delicious.”_


End file.
